


My New Fire, You Oughtta Come To Light Me

by oneforyourfire



Category: C-Pop, EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-12-16 12:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11828523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: And Minseok has whirlwinds swirling in his mind after every casual touch. Words, so many fucking words blooming every time they speak, look, are—together (writer and muse au)





	My New Fire, You Oughtta Come To Light Me

**Author's Note:**

> warning: rimming, "come on me"
> 
> title from tokimonsta's "realla" (feat anderson paak)

Lu Han's last draft had been returned lined heavily in red ink. Hand-delivered, heavy, portfolio-bound, too. 8 AM courier service, delivered by an attractive bespectacled man while Lu Han tugged listlessly at his sweats.

And Kyungsoo had taken the effort to do that. Wasted good printer ink, broken out his red marker. For Lu Han's benefit, alternately his humiliation, Kyungsoo just very earnestly trying to impress upon Lu Han just how _unacceptable_ this latest attempt had been.

_Honestly, one of the worst things you've ever produced,_ a froggy post-it had declared. _I'm shocked you thought this was worth my time, Lu Han._

Full stop included.

And **REWRITE** scrawled just beneath it, thrice underlined, all caps.

 

Kyungsoo, his editor, he's never been one to mince words, pull punches, spare Lu Han's heart. And everything, well everything since Jaehyo, even that short story for that gay erotica collection—the one that had won an _award_ —everything has honestly _sucked_. (Lu Han _knows_ , but Kyungsoo won't let him forget, won't let him get complacent)

"It would be fine for anybody else," Kyungsoo's follow up email had stated—never, ever one to let things go—"But it's not your caliber (You know that, too)," he had continued in the next line. "You're devolving as a writer. And I won't stand idly by. I refuse, Lu Han. Rewrite this. Do better."

And Lu Han knows Kyungsoo has his best interests in mind but he also fuck—fuck, like just, _fuck_.

He’d fucking tried. He _had_. Lu Han still needs a fucking win. And he's starting to resent it, Kyungsoo's constant _belief_ in him and the chiding harassment that seems to accompany that trust.

 

Because Lu Han, he's kind of lost his mojo. His focus, his drive.

And it's starting to affect his work. _Obviously_

Lu Han's last blowjob, last kiss, last fuck had been six months ago. With somebody that he'd loved. Really, really fucking loved. Somebody he lived with. Somebody that he’d been wanting to fucking _marry_. Somebody that had been a fucking _forever_. But circumstances, feelings had changed, and Lu Han had cried it out of his system. Had bled it out on paper, too.

A magnum opus, of sorts, maybe, just 3000 words. No sex, just heartbreak, pure feelings, a unusable, but so good it had made _Kyungsoo_ cry.

And it's hard to write about love now. Hard to access that thrill. Passion, sex, they’ve been thwarted and torn open, turned inside out.

And everything in the aftermath feels sanitized, clinical, just just going through the motions.

Life, that's the way life's been, Lu Han keeps insisting, Kyungsoo keeps dismissing.

_Where's your fire, Lu Han?_ , he'd written on page 250. _Where's your heart? Where's your soul?_

Jaehyo took it along with our pet cactus, my favorite jeans, my heart.

And it’s been half a year, but it’s not enough time yet. He’s still not quite _right_ yet.

The market isn't exactly teeming. Lu Han, good as he is, young and skilled as he is, he's still in the $2.99 section of the Kindle store. He can't afford to keep behaving this way. Kyungsoo can't afford it either. (Neither can Chanyeol, Kyungsoo's boyfriend, with his stupid online gaming habit)

Lu Han's latest manuscript, 50,000, it had been _excruciating_ to get down. Sleepless nights in front of his Mac trying to force himself to feel, remind himself what it’s like to _love_. He'd exerted himself so much. And even then— _the worst thing he'd ever written apparently_ , unsalvageable, too.

 

And now Lu Han is under strict orders to find his focus, his passion anew. Find a new boy. New friend. New _person_. Buy a dog if necessary. Just find something to get his heart pumping again. Find a reason to fucking live. Go on a date, watch a movie, have sex, hold hands, do _something_ beyond wallowing in despair over a long-broken thing.

Because word counts don't matter when the words written down are mediocre. And 50,000 that you've forced yourself to write are 50,000 that somebody will feel _forced_ to read.

Lu Han winces at that recollection, the sting still pronounced as he tugs on his jeans. He spares a glance at his phone. The email is still open, green notification light blinking with a probable followup.

_Barring falling in love again, I need you to at least leave your apartment_ , Lu Han remembers. _That little shrine you have built to what you and Jaehyo once were. It's been months, Lu Han, and this is my brand of tough love. This is my intervention. Email me back once you do. I love you, and I’ll be waiting. Don’t make me send Sehun_.

And Lu Han's doing it out of spite mostly at this point, but he's showered, gotten dressed, is stomping his way childishly to a nearby coffee shop. A handful of bills shoved into the sleeve of his black hoody, a messenger bag on his shoulder. Laden with purpose, Lu Han barrels on.

He'll fall the _fuck_ in love, make Kyungsoo eat his well-meaning words.

 

The door chimes to note his entrance, and there’s nobody else in line. 10AM on a Tuesday, when others—people with _typical jobs_ —are probably typing up reports of some sort on their computers, itching in their business casual attire.

Lu Han, Lu Han will be too, if he doesn’t force himself out of this funk. He has to. He knows he really fucking has to.

And standing behind the counter, the cashier, he's beautiful in a boy-next-door kind of way. Approachable, still, but oddly terrifying. Sharp, something sharp in his eyes. A romance novel hero, nonetheless, though, and Lu Han blinks for a beat too long, trying to drink in his features. Long enough for the boy's face to twist in barely-concealed discomfort and displeasure. The man catches himself quickly enough, though, plasters on a wide, wide smile. Fake and still so beautiful. His name tag reads Minseok, How May I Help You? Helvetica Bold. Stark black against pristine white, pinned to a pressed green polo.

Lu Han orders an iced Americano, shoves 5 singles into his tip jar as he leaves to sit down on one of their varnished wood tables, finger tapping a nervous tattoo as he waits.

And glancing furtively in between sips to where Minseok is wiping the counter, fixing his uniform, playing idly with his phone, Lu Han is inexplicably drawn. He smears blue ink on napkins as he scribbles a series of half-poems to the boy’s eyes. They’re sharp, framed with the thickest eyelashes, cutting as they regard him intermittently, too.

Lu Han's work, it's primarily slice of life, mundane, teeming still with emotions. Pause for homophobia, self discovery, crinkled smiles, heavy touches, meaningful glances, blow jobs, emotional sex. He's writing something especially cheesy, a college romance, roommates, their attraction a terrifying, forbidden thing, fathoms of want in every small encounter. _Residence Life_. His comeback novel. Or so he had thought before Kyungsoo had grown through the _great_ effort of printing it out and making it bleed red with the severity of his edits.

_I can feel what you’re trying to say_ , Lu Han recalls with a cringe, _but this is so bad, Lu Han. This is Lifetime special bad._

And maybe Kyungsoo was right.

But that's not what Lu Han is writing now. It becomes something more niche after he decides that there's something almost feral, almost dark and evil in the beautifully lethal curve of the boy's eyelashes. Shapeshifter, he proposes. Werewolf. Maybe vampire. Not quite human. Not quite safe.

He orders a croissant, catches those eyes once more, and the ice from his cup smears some of the words, stains the table from how long he lingers.

At the lunch time rush, he goes home, tries to decipher his own chicken scrawl. He emails Kyungsoo the 300 words, gets a kissing emoticon, a series of !!!! sent to his Kakao in response.

 

He brings a laptop the next time. Wednesday. He grins more winningly when Minseok takes his order. Lu Han doesn’t miss the effect it has, his charm, the crooked smile that Minseok offers in return. It’s much smoother now, this interaction, much better than the last. Something warm blooms in Lu Han’s chest. It’s a familiar but long-forgotten lurch, the light flutter of attraction, butterflies. Innocuous, but potent. Useful. Kyungsoo had been right, this is useful.

Laptop balanced on the table, coffee positioned to his right, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration, Lu Han stays long enough for Minseok to switch shifts, be replaced with a much more chipper, much more flirtatious boy. And this one, his smile lingers when Lu Han orders another Americano, a chicken panini. Their fingers brush as Lu Han hands him his card.

The flirtatious boy, his name is Jongdae. His shirt is green, too, though less severe, unbuttoned to show the tan expanse of a dotted throat. And his smile crinkles kittenishly at the corners, eyes curving invitingly, too.

Lu Han opens another document, gets crumbs on his keyboard, writes about him, too.

 

At night, it’s them he continues to write about. Together. Jongdae and Minseok, they are both shapeshifters. Minseok, maybe something lupine, Jongdae maybe something feline, Lu Han still hasn’t quite decided. Fire and ice, oppositional, disarming and damning, but inexplicably _drawn_.

It’s another 500 words. Worldbuilding, highlight-heavy portions of text, “fill in later”s. And Kyungsoo sends a crying emoji this time, Chanyeol a thumbs up selfie.

Useful, it’s been useful.

And Lu Han sifts through his manuscript over ramen, scooping noodles into his mouth as he pulls entire portions of text from _Residence Life_. The feeling words, the longing words, the particularly potent adjectives.

 

The third time he visits, Friday, Minseok and Jongdae aren’t there. Instead there’s a soft-eyed, soft-smiled man, Joonmyun, and Lu Han fills in the blanks this time. Writes conflict, elaborates on the shifters’ shared history, drafts a heavy, heavy makeout session. His battery dies in between sips of his caramel macchiato.

That night there is another email, more emoji-heavy responses.

 

Kyungsoo sends Sehun—Lu Han’s one-time mentee, Kyungsoo’s frequent guilt trip leverage—that Saturday, but as reward, not punishment. It’s been a while, and the younger drapes himself over Lu Han’s couch, long and lean and entitled like a cat, like he has every right to be there. His canvas shoes tap restlessly against the floral print on Lu Han’s wallpaper. (Jaehyo had picked it out.) Sehun just graduated college, double majored in English and Education, a veritable adult, but he’s childish still, petulant, pouting, whining about how he hasn’t eaten since this morning. How Lu Han really should do better by him. Also, how’s that sex thing he’s supposed to be writing. Kyungsoo had emailed him a copy, and he thought Kyungsoo was a little excessive in his critique. But then again, Sehun was hardly a gay erotica enthusiast, and it was hot??? But about that lunch?

Lu Han smacks the bare skin along Sehun’s stomach, from where his cotton shirt has ridden up, and the younger screams, protests loudly and curses Lu Han for being so _bad_ to him, Sehun doesn’t know why he agreed to coming over, honestly. Why he subjected himself to this behavior. There are so many other people he could be seeing right now, people that would actually _appreciate_ him, Sehun pontificates, sighing melodramatically. He is caught up in his own monologue, but he rises easily enough, follows Lu Han readily at the promise of food. Chinese, okay?

 

It’s not his first weekend outing since the _Incident_. He’s gone to the grocery store, rented Redbox films, picked up takeout, gone to the laundromat, run errands as a semi-functioning member of society, but it’s the first outing punctuated with sustained eye contact, iPodless, purposeless, careless, for the first time in a long, long time.

Sehun forces them to trade fortune cookie fortunes as as he grumbles about his still undecided thing with Tao, the cute boy from his dance class. He needs “Prosperity in Love” much more than Lu Han, he declares, and Lu Han agrees even as he thumps at Sehun’s knuckles with his bamboo chopsticks.

 

Sunday, Lu Han goes to Target, picks up new wall decals to cover up the dusty rainbows Sehun left in his wake. As he deliberates over the abstract shapes and watercolor trees, frowning at the pithy platitudes urging him to “Living Life to the Fullest” and “Life, Laugh, Love,” Lu Han resolves to take the next step in this experiment. Talk— _actually_ talk—to Minseok, How May I Help You?

He’s already out, so he catches a matinee on his way back. It’s some cheesy romantic comedy, and Lu Han finds himself pulling out his phone to type clandestine notes. Words, he’ll use. Conflicts Minseok and Jongdae, How May I Help You? may have.

His foot taps a restless tattoo on the busride home.

 

That Monday, Lu Han dons a first date shirt, the jeans Kyungsoo has always told him fools people into thinking he has an ass. He establishes deliberate, flirtatious eye contact, pleased at the crooked smile Minseok offers in return. Minseok’s eyes linger on his mouth, or at least Lu Han _thinks_ they do.

Progress, this is progress.

Kyungsoo had a point.

The varnished wood digs into Lu Han’s belly as he deliberates, popping his lips and fluttering his eyelashes like Chanyeol assures him makes Lu Han too beautiful to bear. Minseok’s eyes on him are amused.

And for the sake of the line, the pickup—

“An espresso,” he decides, popping his lips on the last syllable, pausing for effect. "I like men how I like my coffee,” he muses. “Small." A beat, Lu Han spares a lingering glance to Minseok’s arms. "Strong enough to kill a man. At the very least bring him to his knees.” (Jaehyo had been tall and extra sweet, with a sudden bite and bitterness at the end, but Minseok—Minseok doesn’t need to know that)

“Oh,” Minseok laughs, cocking a brow. “Come up with that all by yourself, did you?"

“Yes,” Lu Han laughs in turn. “Alternately, on the table. First thing in the morning. A good coffee, like a good man, it can put an extra skip in my step,” he continues.

Another laugh, this one slightly deeper, laced with a huskiness that makes something heavy bloom in Lu Han’s gut. And fuck, he’s _gorgeous_ —extra, extra gorgeous—when he laughs.

Lu Han doesn’t stand a chance.

“Is that what you do when you sit in that coffee table and stare at me all day? Think of ways to hit on me?"

“Yes.”

Minseok blinks. Caught off guard, he bites at the corner of his mouth. His resulting smile is shy, but still disarming.

"Took you a long time to work up the courage," he observes dryly. And the way his words lilt off at the end, tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth, it's something beautiful in it’s flustered, teasing hesitance. “I had written you off as a garden-variety weirdo."

“I’m not,” Lu Han insists a little stiffly, and Minseok smiles at him indulgently. Lu Han hadn’t thought through any potential lines for this. He’s too awkward still with his words in real time. They are better on paper. After multiple revisions, Kyungsoo’s input. This is scary and a little bit stilted.  But Lu Han continues with false bravado. “I’m really not a weirdo. I’m just a man enraptured."

Minseok’s cheeks tinge with pink, but he shakes his head, unconvinced

“Let me,” Lu Han barrels on. "Let me take you out to dinner, then. Prove myself." Lu Han’s heart beats painfully hard as he waits for a response.

“Okay,” Minseok says.

Minseok’s fingers brush Lu Han’s as he hands him his drink. His phone number is scrawled on the receipt, and Lu Han quells the sudden urge to fistpump in victory.

(He does later after setting down his drink, washing his face in the bathroom and grinning at his appearance)

 

And there’s a whole rush of words that night, stumbling forth from his fingers as soon as he manages to turn his laptop on. It’s almost too fast for him to keep up.

 

Lu Han almost texts him a winky face, another cheesy coffee joke (“Keep me up all night”), but he decides against it. He just sends an intro, a smiley face.

They agree on Friday at 7pm.

 

Their first date, it’s at Olive Garden. The most expensive Lu Han can afford on his budget.

There’s a family celebrating a graduation nearby. A teenaged boy and girl having what looks to be their first date. And Lu Han, with his leg fidgeting underneath the eggshell white table cloth, as Minseok—gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous Minseok—purses his lips at the menu.

Minseok’s dressed up. A dark red button up with the sleeves rolled up, black slacks. His eyes look impossibly dark, lips impossibly red, and Lu Han is maybe imagining the smooth, pale column of that throat marred with lovebites, lovebruises.

They’ve already ordered calamari as an appetizer, Lu Han a coke, Minseok a raspberry lemonade. Already split breadsticks, too. They’re supposed to be deciding their entree, but Lu Han just can’t look away.

"This isn’t really proving you’re not a weirdo," Minseok comments dryly, eyes locking with his just just long enough to unnerve him. Lu Han feels dissected and small.

And Lu Han’s eyes drop to his menu. The pastas, he’d been looking at the pastas. The seafood alfredo looks _particularly_ interesting, yes. Minseok lets out an amused chuckle, and yeah Lu Han’s heart skips just a little bit.

“Are you in school?” Lu Han tries after a beat, taking a sip from his drink to clear his throat.

“Yes,” Minseok peeks up from his menu. “I’m studying architecture. Final year."

A follow up. “How old are you?"

"24," he answers. He sets the menu down. It’s open on pastas, too, and his fingers—small, pink—play with the edge. Lu Han sets his down, too.

“We're the same age."

"Neither of us look it," Minseok decides with a smile. “What about you? Still in school?”

“No, but I studied English. I’m a writer."

“A writer,” Minseok whistles low. “Published?" Lu Han nods minutely, feels his cheeks flushing.  "What kind of writer?"

And honesty really is the best policy. “Gay romance."

Minseok’s eyebrows raise, his lips purse. His tone, when he responds, is delicate, if not a little teasing. “Do you mean…erotica?"

“Yes."

Minseok's nose crinkles in thought, eyebrows pinching upwards, and Lu Han thinks it's probably one of the most adorable things he's ever seen. "Your erotica include men small and strong enough to kill a man?" There's an odd guarded type of teasing in his eyes. This joke is a test, Lu Han feels.

The waiter interrupts before Lu Han has to respond—choke, stutter, struggle. Their waiter— _Hospitaliano_ , Jongin—a too tall, too awkward, too soft-spoken jittery mess of a high school student takes their menus, their orders, ask if they're together—yes, of course—sets down another basket of breadsticks.

The steam rises to halo around Minseok’s face. He looks dreamy and soft in the romantic mood lighting, the perfect muse, Lu Han thinks, exactly the kind of muse he was meant to have.

"I actually—I wanted to..." And Lu Han, he'd practiced this before, in front of his mirror, rehearsed these words. Because, really, he doesn't want to be creepy about this. Doesn't want an unwitting, clandestine muse. Doesn’t want to sap his energy, leech him dry, not give credit where it’s due. And he’d practiced. Thought through to something that sounded natural and convincing. He’d come pre-prepared with the words, but now they're lodged in his throat, stumbling over each other. "I _want_ to—because you just, and I can't,  you know, I don't _want_ to—"

"Yes?" Minseok blinks at him, and wow he’s really so fucking beautiful. It’s awfully distracting.

“I mean," Lu Han struggles to clarify. “I mean…can I…muse?" He swallows. "Can you be my muse?"

"Muse?"

“I mean inspiration, a—a lightening rod for my words, a way to—to _write_ ," Lu Han scrambles to explain. “And I can—I can pay you. I can make it worth your trouble. You're just _so_ —"

Minseok’s eyes narrow. “Are you asking me to…?” His tone is delicate, but his eyes guarded. Even more guarded.

Lu Han flushes, fumbles to explain. “No. I’m not—You’re not my _rent boy_." And Lu Han can quite believe they are having this conversation in a public.

“What do you mean then?"

"You make writing really easy? I haven't been able to write for a long time, but just looking at you. I don't need you to do anything else. Just sit there and look…” —captivating, enrapturing, brimming with beauty that I struggle to convey.

“Pretty,” Minseok supplies, voice tight. His lips are twisted into an odd expression, his eyes still suspicious but eyebrows raised in challenge.  It's unnerving still. "Sit here and look pretty." And oh, there's something like derision there, too.

"I also, I can—You’re really attractive. We could—date? If you wanted to date. We could date."

“What we're doing right now?” Minseok motions broadly to their table. MInseok’s half-finished iced tea, the napkin that Lu Han, in his distress, has been twisting tighter and tighter and tighter.

“Yes," Lu Han concedes. "But we should keep doing it. Shouldn't stop. Or I can just hang out with you or you know continue to watch you,” he continues.  With your permission, of course,” he adds, after a beat.

Minseok regards him for an even long beat, and Lu Han feels naked—the bad, vulnerable, bare, and trembling kind of naked—beneath his scrutinizing gaze. He fights the urge to squirm. And Minseok nods slowly. “Okay,” he decides. “Alright."

"To—?" Lu Han hedges.

"Dating. We can hang out. Date. You can pay me royalties afterwards if my help is particularly good." He shrugs easily, a marked contrast from the withering look of just a couple moments prior.

"Really?" And maybe Lu Han's voice is just a little  too loud. The teenage couple turns to look at them. Lu Han leans forward, the tabletop digging into his belly, white cloth whispering over the fabric of his shirt.

Another shrug, a crinkly-eyed smile. "I mean it will make a great story. Jongdae will stop thinking I'm an incorrigible square.” A pause. “Maybe he’ll even stop trying to set me up with his former frat bros."

The food arrives then, and they eat in relative comfort, relative silence, peeking up occasionally, catching each other’s eyes. Minseok does this adorable nose crinkle as he dabs his mouth when he’s finished.

They order dessert afterwards, talk about the weather, their favorite music, favorite soap operas, first boyfriends, briefly about coming out, Minseok stirring the ice in his glass, pursing his lips as he recounts how his mother and father and younger sister had cried.  
Lu Han pays, and Minseok doesn’t protest, lingers at the glass entrance outside before stepping forward to shake Lu Han’s hand, tug him into a too-brief hug. Minseok smells like strawberries and cream.

 

Lu Han pulls out his phone on the busride home, types up a quick email to Kyungsoo, his heart still pounding loudly in his ears.

 

They go to a diner for their next date.  Separated by one faux granite table, two hamburgers, two decorative Coca-Cola glasses, a heavy, heavy silence.

It’s a Tuesday. Minseok’s just gotten off his shift. He’s still wearing his work clothes, the top two buttons loosened, hair soft and falling in his eyes. He’s tired, and he needs a break, he’d told him earlier today when Lu Han had put in his order. His head and his voice had tilted up in something like hope, and Lu Han had taken a hint.

They’ve been texting since their last date, just a couple of days prior. Minseok joking about his too-long long shifts, remarking on the soap opera they both watch, sending selfies with his pet cactus, Lu Han responding in kind with with pictures of the baby birds that had just hatched outside his apartment, jokes about about how he’s living on his computer for the time being. Lu Han trying to get a feel for this new, new thing, maybe work up the courage to ask for a repeat, but Minseok had spared him the effort, given him an in.

Lu Han had run home to shower, change. He’d worried over his appearance in the bathroom vanity, dabbed on his favorite cologne.

And he’d jotted down another handful of words on his magnetized whiteboard calendar, notes on small teeth, sharp eyes, a voice that was too calculating in its affected cuteness. They had bled into the margins of Tuesday and Wednesday, the _buy sehun something nice_ Sehun had scrawled on Thursday.

Lu Han had power walked back to Minseok’s work, and they had walked here together, steps in sync.

“Ground rules, then.” Minseok starts, dropping pretense with a wide smile as he swirls his French fry in ketchup. “Since we didn’t last time, we should set ground rules.”

“Yes?”

“We’re _dating_ , right? But what do you want from me?” Minseok says, voice maybe deliberately pitched deep. It’s an open-ended invitation, all the more alluring as Minseok pops the fry into his mouth, lips pursed, leaning back to regard Lu Han. Lu Han’s eyes catch on the jut of his adam’s apple as Minseok swallows. A test, Lu Han thinks, this is another test.

“Regular...dating?” he tries, but something—a glimmer of mischief, challenge—in Minseok’s eyes has him taking it back. “I mean,” he hedges, hesitates instead. “Dating without...obligation? I’m not—you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, just to inspire me.”

Minseok nods minutely, acknowledges his answer with a quiet _that definitely works_. He swirls another fry in his ketchup. “Do you have any deadlines you’re trying to meet?”

“I’m kind of—I’m rewriting something from a while back. It’s kind of...you know, it’s been a while since I finished anything, really.”

“A timetable, then,” Minseok propose, so pragmatic about it, professional, even as he scrunches his nose around his bite of fry, his sip of Coke. “How often should we meet?”

“Once a week at least? More if possible” Lu Han sucks his lower lip into his mouth, then puffs out his cheeks. Minseok’s eyes on him, the entire time, are unnerving. “You’re a really good muse,” he adds, dropping his gaze. “But I need—I need a lot….If that’s okay.”

“It is.” And again, Minseok is smiling, shifting into it so smoothly so that Lu Han has to resist the urge to gape openly at the change. A test, Lu Han thinks again, these are all tests.

Minseok pulls out his phone, shows him the neat green and blue timetables for his class times, his shifts. They decide on Fridays, Saturdays.

“So about this date,” Lu Han tries, and Minseok chuckles, pocketing his phone.

They talk again, laugh again. Lu Han gets ketchup on his sleeve, Minseok cheese on his collar.

 

At night, there is an email from Kyungsoo, another 400 words on a shared Google Doc, a text message from Minseok. And purpose, maybe there’s some purpose, too.

 

"Dating you is nice," Minseok decides, declares after their third one, tapping the edge of his spoon against his cappuccino cup. And Lu Han’s heart swells in his chest, and he feels a smile stretch his lips, maybe a flush suffuse his cheeks. He thinks maybe, also his eyes are doing that awful dreamy-eyed look that Sehun has tried and failed to slap out of him because it's too fucking _much_ , hyung.

Minseok’s nose crinkles at the effect, a smile tugging at his own mouth.

"You're cute," he adds after a beat, and Lu Han feels his mouth fall open, helpless to stop it.

They’re a cafe this time, Minseok’s choice, a confession about how he _hates_ his own workplace, the beans they’re just not—not the good stuff, not like this. He inhales deeply, dramatically from his blue ceramic cup, sighing dreamily.

And yes, dating Minseok, it’s nice. Really nice. Minseok is great to talk to, funny, biting, gorgeous, captivating, inspiring.

Their encounters are warm smiles and hesitant glances and easy conversation and lingering touches sometimes when they say goodbye. Minseok hugging him, sometimes pressing his nose to Lu Han’s shoulder and humming. And yeah it's really nice and easy and honest, too. Potent, too. Useful, too. Distressing, too. Disconcerting, too.

 

Lu Han, he’s not really sure how these muses things work. Isn’t sure where the line between wonderful distraction and the most potent creative lightening rod he had ever experienced is. The chemistry, the attraction, it’s electric. It’s magnetic. It’s dangerous. And Minseok has whirlwinds swirling in his mind after every casual touch. Words, so many fucking words blooming every time they speak, look, are—together.

The best, the very best words, Kyungsoo states, the best he’s written in a long, long time.

These words, he types them when Minseok goes to the bathroom, picks up their orders, deliberates over the movie choice, coffee drink, entree. He writes them when Minseok pauses to check his own phone, Lu Han accumulating dozens upon dozens of Google Doc phrases on his phone.

It’s the rush of emotions, Lu Han knows, the entangled wires of art, intrigue, sex, want.

Minseok giving life to barren fields.

Sometimes, he’s scared—fucking terrified—that he’ll let some of them spill out, bleed into his tone or into his eyes, ruin this decidedly pragmatic thing.

And sometimes Minseok pauses midlaugh, midjoke to stare at him, and Lu Han knows it’s obvious. Increasingly obvious. It’s all happening much too fast. Minseok is maybe increasingly stained with this, too.

It’s their sixth date, and Minseok’s eyes look soft, captivating in the kiss of afternoon.

“You’re kind of fascinating,” Lu Han compliments, mindlessly, and Minseok’s cheeks color, his dark eyelashes fluttering heavily. His laugh—post joke, Baekhyun’s face went _bright_ red—catches and dies in his throat. And even then, he's really too, too, too beautiful.

Minseok drops his gaze, pokes almost viciously at his rice in response. "You always use that kind of flattery?" he asks defensively. “That how you get all the boys in your bed?"

“I haven’t—” Lu Han interrupts, looking down, too. At Minseok’s hands, his small, nimble fingers, fiddling with his fork. “I haven’t for a while.” _And you know that’s not what we’re about_ , he wants to add. _You know that we’re not going to—_ , but it sounds too harsh, almost angry in his head. So he lets his sentence die there.

“Why? Can’t get it up?” Minseok teases, and Lu Han shakes his head. Needlessly solemn, he knows because Minseok’s face shades with concern.

He bites his lower lip once, twice. “Oh. Do you want to—maybe talk—?"

Another shake. Minseok’s eyes shine with relief, almost.

“So this is that where I come in,” he laughs, too loud, too familiar, irreverent in his false casualness. “I gotta be hot for you. Remind you what it’s like to get off.” He waggles his eyebrows, eyes glittering. “Have we had sex yet?” Minseok continues. “In this novel we’re writing?”

And Lu Han chokes on his drink. Minseok’s smile is fucking lethal, fucking sharp. Lu Han shakes his head, choking still, swallowing around the liquid lodged in his throat. Lu Han wants to start to explain that it isn’t him and Minseok, isn’t even MInseok and Jongdae like he’d first intended, how it’s this weird hybrid. And he still doesn’t know quite how to—

But Minseok interrupts before he has a chance to explain himself, lilting and playful. “I’m good, I just want you to know. I’m good with my mouth, my hands.” The last syllable pitches highly in calculated flirtation. And Minseok’s eyes twinkle as Lu Han’s face heats.

The conversation leaves a bitter, bitter aftertaste in his mouth, no matter how many sips of his iced tea he takes. No matter how long and lingering Minseok’s hug that night is.

 

“I like him,” he grumbles to Sehun a week and a half later, after Lu Han’s latest draft, Kyungsoo’s next _reward_. A delivery of Krispy Kremes, the younger in tow. Sehun had grumbled about being hungry, and Lu Han had agreed to late lunch, his treat of course. But then Sehun had asked how Lu Han _felt_. And Lu Han had promptly collapsed onto his couch to complain. "He’s so hot and easy to like. I really like him."

"Isn’t that the point?” Sehun counters. From his post by the door, he urges Lu Han up, out the door. Lunch, Lu Han had promised him lunch. There’s only the vaguest sympathy in the glance he levies in Lu Han’s direction.

That makes Lu Han want to be even _more_ petulant. He presses his face into the green upholstery with a pout.

"But I don’t think—I don’t think he likes me back,” Lu Han groans. Stretched across his couch, he turns to bury his face in his arm, let out a louder sound of frustration because because because _what to do_.

Sehun crosses the room, pats at his back, soothing if not a little awkward and stilted. He coaxes Lu Han’s head up again.

“He probably wouldn’t be hanging out with you if he didn’t like you,” he reassures him.

“But that’s not the same thing. Like he tolerates me, and I take him to nice places, you know.”

Sehun furrows his brow in indecision for a beat then reaches around in his backpocket for his wallet. He hands Lu Han a tiny, crumpled sheet of paper.

Lu Han blinks down at the words, something swelling in his chest.

"It worked out,” Sehun divulges, flushing suddenly, impassive face pinching into something shy and self conscious. "We’ve been—three dates."

Lu Han sits up to squeeze it in his fist.

“Don’t you think maybe giving this to me, maybe it will take your good fortune away?” Lu Han jokes, voice and chest tight.

Sehun furrows his eyebrows at that, too, purses his lips in thought. _Actual_ thought, and Lu Han feels the sudden urge to pinch Sehun's cheeks or muss his hair or hug him really fucking tight. Awkward as the angle and affection would be.

“No,” Sehun decides after a beat. “Tao and I, we’re—we’re good, you know. You deserve to be good, too…It’s been months."

And this is conversation that Lu Han doesn’t _want_ to have. A conversation he doesn’t _need_ to have.

“Let’s get Chinese food,” he declares, and Sehun nods, much too enthusiastic, awkward about this, too.

They don’t talk about it afterwards, seated across from each other in this family-owned Chinese restaurant, but Sehun passes his fortune again. "Do not demand for someone’s soul if you already got his heart” in exchange for Lu Han's less appealing “Keep your face to the sunshine and you will never see shadows.”

Lu Han is overcome with affection again, and this time, he does pinch Sehun’s cheeks, compelled to action as Sehun chews overloud around his bite of sesame chicken. Sehun reacts as expected. He flushes darkly, curses soundly, shoves Lu Han’s hand away, grumbling about how he’s not a fucking _child_. Not a fucking _pet_.

It doesn’t take much for them to recover the mood.

 

"Want to see him?" Lu Han presses afterwards. They’re both barefoot, crosslegged on Lu Han’s floor, watching The Fox and Hound, the box of donuts balanced between them, and Sehun nods easily. Sehun blinks up from the television set to smile at the picture Minseok had begrudgingly let Lu Han take last week.

Minseok’s got his lips pursed, his eyebrows pinched, cheeks puffed out, too. A cute face, Lu Han had demanded. The soft dumpling— _mandu_ —face that Jongdae had encouraged Lu Han to request.

“Oh, he looks young,” Sehun observes, eyes shifting back to the screen briefly. Copper is going for his first hunt. “Cute.”

Lu Han frowns at him, remembers how Sehun had forced him to use at least _three_ adjectives when showing him a picture of his last boyfriend. And _cute_ hadn't counted. Cats are cute, hyung. Bunnies and babies and Kyungsoo hyung is cute. But boys that I left stick their tongue in my mouth, hands down my pants, they are not _cute_.

But okay, Sehun is just a hypocrite. _Okay_.

Their fingers brush as Lu Han gropes for another donut, munches maliciously.

“You should tell him,” Sehun advises as Lu Han sets his phone down. Sehun is wiping secretively at his sugar-glazed mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he catches Lu Han’s eyes. “That you like him, and that maybe you want more than just a _muse_.” Sehun uses airquotes here, nose crinkling at his own word choice. “Adults talk about these things, you know. Their feelings and shit.”

Sehun reaches for another donut, turns himself bodily back to the screen before Lu Han has a chance to respond. And it’s better that way.

 

Lu Han decides to ignore Sehun’s momentary lapse in personality, doesn’t bring it up again, doesn’t heed the advice either.

This, what he has with Minseok, Lu Han likes to think it’s working. He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing.

 

They’re at a sportsbar for their next date, and Lu Han laughs around his greasy fingers as Minseok recounts Jongdae's awful, awful attempts at seducing poor straitlaced Joonmyun—licking icing off the spoon while meeting Joonmyun’s eyes, trilling about how he love love loved to have sweet things in his mouth—Joonmyun apparently oblivious to Jongdae’s intent, chiding Jongdae for being unsanitary.

It’s Saturday night, and Minseok and Lu Han both smart at a sudden thud then look to their left at an adjacent booth where a couple is making out. The man presses the woman into the wall, and there is another a thud as her arm flails out to knock against the glass partition.

Minseok smothers a laugh, eyebrows raising and lips puffing. And yeah, he’s still so beautiful.

“What would you be doing on a Saturday night were it not for our arrangement?” Lu Han asks as Minseok spares one more glance, chokes out another laugh before sliding closer to Lu Han, away from the action. His side is flush with Lu Han’s. It’s too hot.

“Sitting at home watching Netflix,” Minseok confesses. His nose crinkles in amusement, and he pulls away to regard Lu Han. Lu Han misses the warmth immediately.“Honestly, hanging out with an attractive boy is hardly the worst I could be doing. It’s nice.”

Lu Han’s heart swells at the compliment, nonchalant as it may be.

“You think I’m attractive?” Lu Han asks, and Minseok puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. He reaches for another chicken wing, dips it into the ranch.

“Don’t play dumb,” he chides as he brings it to his mouth. “I know you know you’re hot, Lu Han.”

And he _does_ objectively. But it’s still good to hear.

“I kinda do?” he concedes. “But _you_ thinking I’m hot, though, that’s nice."

Minseok stares at him with a fond sort of annoyance, licks his lips free of buffalo sauce. Lu Han eyes follow the movement. “Is that what you want of your muse, too? To tell you you’re pretty and also be pretty for your sake?"

“It’s nice. Why can’t you just say a nice thing and let it be,” Lu Han grumbles. His next bite of French fry is vicious, and Minseok laughs again, not unkindly.

“You are, though,” he says. “Pretty, handsome, hot. If you want me to tell you, I can tell you. I’m here for your bidding,” he trills. And again that unnerving provocation, the enticing peek of his collarbone, throat, again that vague dark promise in his eyes. "I’m here for the art."

Yes, Lu Han remembers. Yes, yes, that’s the purpose.

“You’re also pretty, handsome, hot. Beautiful,” Lu Han manages after a beat. “Too. You’re amazing.” A confession, an almost confession.

And Minseok acknowledges it with a smile. He dabs his mouth with his napkin, folds it into quarters.

It’s the smallest, smallest sign that he’s nervous. And Lu Han latches desperately to it. A sign, a sign that it’s not completely unrequited. That he’s not the only one.

Minseok also feels something, even just the faintest hint of it. Even just a shadow, yes that’s enough. Lu Han, he’s still confused, caught up in this maelstrom of emotions, Minseok the very eye of the storm. But Minseok, Minseok is also affected.

 

Minseok texts him on Friday to tell him that he has to study for midterms, can’t come out, but Saturday, Saturday, he’ll be ready.

But then Saturday, and he’s just—he’s so tired, Lu Han, Minseok confesses on the phone. He’s still in his room. Lu Han insists on coming over.

And Minseok, limp hair hanging in front of his tired eyes, he puffs out his cheeks in annoyance when he greets Lu Han at the door. He makes some offhand remark about how he’s not good company right now, so maybe Lu Han should just go back home before he breaks the illusion. Muses probably aren’t supposed to have eyebags and sweatpants. They probably aren’t supposed to be tired or cranky or stressed or irritable.

And no, Lu Han finds himself insisting. No, no, he’s _beautiful_. And no, Minseok, he's allowed to be human, too. And no, really it's fine. They can both work. He’d brought his laptop, also snacks.

So they both do. Laid across Minseok’s bed, toes occasionally bumping.

Minseok passes out at one point, has to be gently shaken awake.

And Lu Han runs to the campus Starbucks to get him a coffee, a scone. He massages his tired shoulders beneath the rumpled cotton of his _I’m not trying right now, Lu Han_ shirt.

“I like my coffee small, too,” Minseok jokes wearily between small, neat sips. He’s sitting up now, legs draped over Lu Han’s lap. “But extra sweet."

Lu Han's heart clenches with anticipation and poorly disguised desire.

Minseok invites him to stay the night, no, no funny business, just sleeping. They squeeze together on Minseok’s tiny, tiny mattress. So hot, so much skin on borrowed clothes on skin. Minseok’s scent saturates his pores. Minseok thanks him in the darkness, for staying, for helping, for still—still liking him even like this. And of course, of course.

Minseok falls asleep first, curls tightly into him in his slumber, mouth latched to the peek of Lu Han’s sternum from beneath Minseok’s borrowed sleepshirt. Lu Han can make out the softness of his face in the dark, the gentle kiss of shadows across a soft cheek, dark, dark fluttering eyelashes. Soft and extra beautiful, extra real. Lu Han wraps an arm around Minseok’s waist. His skin itches with the desire to roll away, find his phone, capture these feelings, these words.

 

Minseok, if possible, he looks even better in the morning, rumpled hair, pillow-creased cheeks, droopy eyelashes, stubble on his cheek. Minseok offers him Strawberry Poptarts. Lu Han changes back into last night’s clothes. Perched on Minseok’s kitchen stool, he drinks in his home. Tidy and minimalist, it is decorated in pale greens, soft blues, unassuming and beautiful, veritably his.

They go to a Sunday matinee that afternoon. A foreign film. It’s Minseok’s treat, an apology. Lu Han doesn’t want to turn him down.

Minseok buys him nachos, too, an Icee and an box of Milk Duds.

It’s a Korean film, post-war, about an aging couple and their wayward daughter, their struggle with modernity. It’s interesting enough, subtitled, too, both reasons enough for Lu Han to watch the screen. But he casts a furtive glance to Minseok at his left as he takes a shoves a shaky handful of Milk Duds into his mouth before returning to the screen, the long, gorgeous shots of the Korean countryside.

And Minseok’s eyelashes cast dark shadows across his rapt face, eyes liquid, brows dark, pinched in concentrated, lips parted. His face is beautiful in the neon blue glow, a steady, beautiful, beautiful existence on just his periphery, and Lu Han can’t help looking at him again, compelled to.

Minseok sees him looking and narrows his eyes, purses his lips in challenge.

Chided, Lu Han turns bodily towards the film, allowing himself only the occasional glance sideways, sipping from his Icee to seem less suspicious. Lu Han feels like he’s 15, on his first date.

Minseok turns after a while, lips pursing in something like disdain. But there’s no bite in his eyes, that same amusement.

And Lu Han, he really just has to kiss him, really just can’t fucking _help_ the overwhelming urge. Right there in the back of the movie theatre, he presses his mouth to Minseok’s without preamble.

Minseok’s lips are so soft, pliant. They part deliciously for just the briefest, most beautiful moment. Minseok kisses him back, lets out this soft, gorgeous sigh of contentment at the movement. It makes a groan of appreciation bubble deep in Lu Han’s throat, has his fingers threading through Minseok’s hair to pull him even closer, kiss him even more thoroughly.

He tastes like nachos, like orange soda. He parts further for Lu Han to lick his way inside.

But all too soon, Minseok, perfect, perfect Minseok, that deserves to be soundly kissed, that Lu Han _wants_ to kiss soundly, kiss fucking breathless, Minseok, he’s pulling away.

“You don’t kiss muses,” Minseok protests, and Lu Han hums in disagreement, already, already aching to kiss him again, lose himself in the sweet sweet taste of Minseok’s plush mouth.

"I do," he decides, cradling Minseok’s head still, rubbing his fingers into Minseok’s scalp to provoke another shiver. "I kiss my muses."

Lu Han closes the distance again, lets his lips drag over the plump ridge of Minseok’s gorgeous, distressingly pink bottom lip. It’s plush against his, parting just just enough for him to suck it back into his mouth.

Lu Han’s arms wind around Minseok’s waist with an embarrassingly loud moan. Desperate for it, tingling still when they disengaged days, hours, minutes later, rumpled and disheveled, lips swollen and heavy. They laugh breathlessly, disbelievingly as the theatre lights flicker on. They just made out—truly, truly like teenagers—in the back of a movie theatre.

 

And there are oh so many words.

Lu Han loves being in love—like, infatuation, lust. He fucking _flourishes_ in it. He can’t always say the words in the moment, stumbles over them when pressed for more eloquence. But he can on paper, he can _create_ , and even when he can’t there is Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo can salvage, alternately tear apart, to make something worth publishing.

This last thing, this messy thing, it’s worth publishing, Kyungsoo believes. Lu Han, he’s never written this much this fast, is terrified almost.

 

_TELL HIM_ , Sehun texts when Lu Han informs him of this latest development. But no, no no no no.

 

And in the aftermath, Minseok is twilit kisses and the softest most hesitant brushes of his fingers, intersecting glances, want building up up up into something heavy and beautiful and potent so potent. But chaste still, chaster than what Lu Han craves, tame, balanced on just the cusp of something hot and heavy.

They kiss after dates now, hold hands, sometimes sometimes do even more.

Lu Han fills in the blanks by himself later at night. Writes and writes and writes through the feelings, the wants.

 

Kyungsoo visits a week later, on a Wednesday. Tiny and insistent, he wraps his small hands around Lu Han’s neck to drag him down to his height. Kyungsoo kisses him square on the mouth, and Chanyeol behind him in the doorway whoops. Chanyeol tries to kiss him, too, but by that point, Lu Han has recovered enough to shove him off, ask them what they even want.

To thank him. They want to thank him. Want to ask him about this lovely, lovely source of inspiration.

“Don’t you _dare_ drop him,” Kyungsoo warns, tugging Lu Han into a hug. “We’re taking you to dinner tonight. Do you want to invite him?”

Minseok is working, can’t.

Chanyeol fusses over Lu Han’s clothes, while Kyungsoo pokes through his fridge, frowns at his choices. Lu Han is relieved when they let him step out the door.

 

Kyungsoo gives him a gift card after dinner, kissing him again but this time on the cheek. It's for Red Lobster, $50. Go all out, Chanyeol advises, woo the fuck out of this amazing human being.

 

He uses it that Friday. And Minseok, charmed, dazzled, charming,  dazzling, he invites Lu Han back to his room, drags him into his apartment by the waist. They make out on Minseok’s futon, the metal frame digging into Lu Han’s spine as he urges Minseok further on top of him, moans desperately into his mouth.

They’ve done this before, snuck back into Minseok’s apartment post-midterm kiss. They’ve let hands wander, kisses linger, finger tug, teeth nip, even even even let their hips rock, cocks graze before Minseok inevitably pulls away.

But he’s not now, melting further into him, sliding his hands up under Lu Han’s shirt. He seems intent to suck marks on Lu Han’s neck, grind down hard and steady on Lu Han’s crotch and Lu Han—he’s not exactly about to stop. Minseok's hips are a fucking gift, rocking smoothly down onto Lu Han, with the most devastatingly sinuous rhythm. Lu Han's head lolls back to encourage Minseok to touch, suck, mark more skin.

Emboldened, Lu Han’s hand slips between their bodies to drag lengthwise down Minseok’s chest, stomach. He cups, touches Minseok's cock in a slow, delirious, appraising stroke, memorizing the heft, the weight, and Minseok shudders, presses towards the friction. He pants against Lu Han’s neck.

“Good?” Lu Han asks, and Minseok’s moan is tight, small. Lu Han swallows it in the next instant, kiss fervent, desperate, cajoling all at once as he touches him again, keeps keep keeps touching him. Lu Han grinds the heel of his palm, fingers stumbling along the strained zipper of Minseok's deliciously tight jeans, working them eagerly open, and Minseok stiffens.

Lu Han dizzy with pleasure and want, he can anticipate Minseok’s half-formed protest.

“I touch my muse’s cock,” he reasons shakily, fingertips whispering over the heft of Minseok’s half-formed erection. “I—I make them come. Thank them for their inspiration.”

And Minseok, thankfully, doesn’t make to protest, murmurs out a quiet, strained _Thank you handjob_. Minseok twitches heavily against his questing fingers, fucking upwards into his touch. He’s hot, pulsing in his grip, when Lu Han slides underneath to hold him fully. Minseok moans into the column of Lu Han’s throat, teeth scraping. "So good," he says. "So fucking good."

Minseok bites down on Lu Han’s shoulder, panting in encouragement as Lu Han focuses on making it even better, restricted in movement as he is. Lu Han swipes his thumb against the flared head, tightens his grip, and Minseok shudders heavily above him. He fucking whimpers. It's so fucking hot.

“Come to my room,” Minseok groans, shaky, disheveled, so, so affected by this, too. “Yifan doesn’t deserve a free show.”

They stumble through Minseok’s bedroom door.

Lu Han makes to get on the bed, but Minseok stops him, wrapping his arms around Lu Han’s waist, falling to his knees, nuzzling his crotch.

“I told you I was good," he purrs. "Let me prove to you how good I can be."

And oh fuck, oh yes, yes, yes.

Minseok blinks up at him, teasing and cute.Coyness, intrigue, wide-eyed innocence, pursed lips and puffed out cheeks, but filthy filthy filthy as he tugs down Lu Han’s pants, boxers. He licks his lips once, twice before he suckles Lu Han into his mouth. Lu Han’s thighs tremble, his jaw slackening at the sight, sensation.

Minseok's nose and eyebrows and eyes crinkle as he laves Lu Han with kittenish licks. “Fuck,” Lu Han groans. “Minseok, _fuck_.” Lost in it, he moans helplessly about how fucking good it feels, and Minseok pulls away, blinks up at him through his heavy, dark, dark eyelashes, licking languidly as Lu Han pants. Minseok smiles up at him between drags of his tongue, and Lu Han’s hips jerk helplessly with the desire to thrust upwards, fuck further into that perfect mouth.

Minseok on his knees, gliding up and down on Lu Han’s cock, he’s too beautiful to bear. Lu Han's hands fall to Minseok's head cradling, worshipping, fingers threading through his black strands, but he tugs as Minseok sucks hardly particularly hard. And Minseok fucking moans, arching into it. Lu Han's hips jump, stutterfucking into Minseok's warm, open mouth “Your mouth is fucking perfect” he praises loudly.

Minseok pulls away, strokes Lu Han's saliva-slick cock with his small, perfect hand, dropping kisses on the tip still. "My ass is even better," Minseok breathes. "Want to see?"

And fuck, he really, really, really fucking is perfect

He sucks him just once more, long and languid, tongue fluttering. He disengages with an obscene pop, collapses back onto the bed. Lu Han peels off his pants, shirt,  boxers, quick to follow.

And yes,  _muse, muse, muse_ , Lu Han reminds himself. _Beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, perfect **muse**_

“Take your clothes off,” he urges.

Minseok—wonderfully, mercifully— does. His shirt is tugged off, tossed over the headboard, his pants and socks and shoes near the foot of the bed.

Minseok, splays himself open, perfect and pliant on the sheets. His skin is flushed, his erection straining against the striped material of his boxers before he peels those off, too, and he’s beautiful.

“Your muse?” Minseok breathes. He drags one achingly slow hand down his own his body, pauses to stroke his cock, luxurious, obviously for show, twisting so that Lu Han can see the way the flushed head peeks through his fingers. Lu Han’s mouth drops open in sheer _desire_ as he rasps out a _yes, yes, my muse_. “ _Fuck_ me,” Minseok groans.

And Lu Han when he’d written this, when he’d pictured this it was Minseok taking, Minseok sliding inside, Minseok holding down, Minseok fucking him open and needy and breathless and gasping.

But yes, if Minseok wants—yes Lu Han can definitely, definitely  yes yes _yes_.

Minseok reaches into his nightstand drawer for a half-used bottle of lubricant, a condom. He pops the cap, and Lu Han falls forward, eager to help. His body presses flush to Minseok’s side.

"Watch," Minseok says instead, fingers around Lu Han's wrist, and _oh_. Oh, this has to be the hottest thing in the entire world

Lu Han does watch, lower lip caught between his teeth, eyes heavy, skin trembling with sheer want. As Minseok eases himself open,  knuckle by knuckle, finger by finger until he's stretching around three, gleaming with sweat, trembling, moaning, asking Lu Han if he thinks Minseok is stretched enough, thinks Minseok can handle him yet.

“A fourth finger,” Lu Han coaches, voice unsteady as he watches Minseok's small, nimble fingers work.

“Gonna feel so good,” Minseok moans, twisting, quickening his pace.

“You’re so hot,” Lu Han presses, dropping a kiss to his temple. Minseok’s eyelashes kiss against his cheekbone. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly, but he was just to watch just as much. Just fucking drink him in. Minseok rocks down so perfectly on his own fingers, gasping as he curls them, drags them with purpose.

“Don’t stop watching,” Minseok purrs, pants. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” Lu Han groans, twisting to kiss Minseok, drag the words over Minseok’s quivering lips. “I want you so badly.”

“ _Take_ me.”

Minseok gropes for the condom, tears at foil to slide shakily it over Lu Han’s aching cock as Lu Han crawls over him, tips Minseok’s head up to meet his gaze. Lu Han drowns briefly in dark liquid _want_ he finds in Minseok’s perfect eyes. Fathoms and fathoms of desire, matching his own. He wants Lu Han, wants his cock, and Lu Han groans, positions himself, eager to provide, eager to make Minseok fall apart.

Lu Han presses inside with a breathless push, and Minseok’s muscles flutter desperately around Lu Han’s length, provoking a heavy moan, a full-bodied shudder, a breathy “Are you okay?”

Minseok wraps his arms around Lu Han’s waist, fingernails biting into Lu Han’s skin, his throat bared as he pants “Yes, keep going. Fast, hard. _Yes_.”

Lu Han retreats, thrusts back in deep, hard and Minseok writhes back in encouragement, lips open around a soft, soft moan. Lu Han speeds up after that, lost in it.

And yes, Minseok really is so so good. So so amazing. Liquid grace, eager abandon, resounding moans, enthusiastic bucks, deliciously slick warmth, hands in his hair, lips against his. Everything, everything right then, blooming with sweat and asking him for even more.

“You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful,” Lu Han chants, pants, stamps into Minseok’s quivering skin, fucking into him with an increasing desperation, erratic, hard as the pleasure mounts and mounts and mounts, singes every nerve ending.

Minseok is moaning into his mouth, Lu Han tasting the husky desperation of his response, feeling it beneath his fingertips, around his cock. Everything narrows down to this one gorgeous, beautiful, perfect, perfect point of contact. Minseok works a hand between them, strokes himself as Lu Han grinds his cock even harder, hands wrapping around Minseok’s thighs to fuck even deeper. And Minseok climaxes then, shuddering with orgasm, trembling beautifully, his entire body tensing and releasing, pulsing perfect perfect perfect around Lu Han’s cock buried deep inside. He whimpers Lu Han’s name. And Lu Han comes with a shudder immediately after, a loud resounding cry of Minseok’s name, collapsing into him. He pulls away just enough to tie off the condom, toss it in the wastebasket by Minseok’s bed, before curling into Minseok, cradling him even closer.

And this thing between them, it’s getting too messy, Lu Han thinks, even even haze in the afterglow. Lu Han is becoming too entangled to come free unscarred, undamaged. Feeling, he’s definitely feeling too much, definitely should pull away. But Minseok’s skin is so warm and smooth and responsive, and Lu Han he just has to kiss, cradle, touch touch touch again again again. And Minseok, Minseok is so distressingly receptively, touching him back, warm, sated limbs winding around his, content it seems to stay with him just like this.

 

“Can I read it?” Minseok asks long, long after, fingers still tracing mindless, meandering patterns, absently dancing over his hip. Lu Han quells a shudder. “The book,” Minseok clarifies softly, “When it’s done?"

Lu Han stiffens slightly, swallows hard, shakes his head even harder. They’re facing each other, and Minseok’s hand shifts to his cheek, cradling it instead. Minseok’s eyes are always beautiful, but right now they’re extra beautiful. Warm, dark, so, so full. They’re too beautiful to bear when they’re looking at him like that. Lu Han closes his eyes, lets out a shaky breath.

“Can I?” Minseok repeats when Lu Han doesn’t make to answer, just relishes in the quiet hesitant tenderness of Minseok’s careful touch. Minseok traces gently along the hollow of his eyes, over to cradle his cheekbone, touch whisper-soft. Voice, also whisper-soft. “Please?”

And no, he can’t. He can’t.

“It’s—it’s—“ Naked still, come-sticky still, he gestures wildly in his clamber to explain that it’s not—not because he doesn’t trust Minseok, not because he thinks Minseok doesn’t deserve, it’s just it’s too private and he just doesn't want to—

Minseok urges Lu Han’s eyes open with a slow, gentle tug at Lu Han’s eyelashes.

And Minseok, also naked, flushed, his hair plastered in sweaty tendrils to his furrowed eyebrow, eyes still so fucking beautiful, he holds up a hand to reassure him it’s okay. He understands. It was a favor, not a demand.

“Can I read something else then?” Minseok tries. He rolls his shoulder, lolls his head forward to speak against Lu Han’s chest, amused and teasing now. “Have to know whether you’ll be skilled enough to capture my essence.”

And yes, yes. Lu Han, he can email him one of the manuscripts from his old books. Or drop off one of his paperbacks.

 

They lie together for a long time, Lu Han not quite willing to pull away, stop touching, but they have to eventually. Minseok sends him off with a heated, lingering kiss in the doorway. Fingers in his hair, Minseok thanks him for this. “It’s nice to feel wanted,” Minseok confesses. “Nice to feel beautiful.”

“You are,” Lu Han breathes easily, chasing his mouth, dragging his hands down Minseok’s sides, and Minseok rolls his eyes fondly.

“Sometimes, it’s like you doubt that somebody could ever not want me.”

“I do,” Lu Han responds. “I really don’t know how—”

“You’re so…” Minseok sighs, tugs him to kiss him again. He loses himself in it for a while, lips parting, tongue dancing into his mouth. Lu Han is breathing hard when he pulls away. He has to—has to pull away. Lu Han has to go home.

Minseok’s email address is scrawled on a monkey post-it note, heavy and purposeful in Lu Han’s backpocket. The busride home is long.

 

TELL HIM, Sehun texts again. Then he calls, his tone is chiding, but then becomes consoling, soothing, cajoling. Tell him, hyung. I’m serious. Lu Han doesn’t agree. Can’t.

And Lu Han knows maybe he should stop telling Sehun, burdening him like this, but he needs to tell someone, and Kyungsoo will just—will just see this as an unequivocal positive because Lu Han’s writing so many words. But Sehun, Sehun will understand his inner conflict.

Even if Lu Han isn’t going to heed his advice.

He takes out his laptop instead, sends Minseok an email, then opens Google Docs. He types until his fingers and head and heart are aching.

 

Minseok is guarded over the next couple of days. There’s a strain in his laugh, a hesitance in his words. He’s doubting maybe, Lu Han thinks, regretting, but Minseok still texts Friday. He says he wants to stay in and can Lu Han come over.

Minseok guides him into the living room, sits cross-legged and barefoot on the blue futon mattress as Lu Han—quelling down a sudden flare of panic and dread because this is, this is how Jaehyo ended things, too—sits silently beside him, waits for him to speak.

Minseok doesn’t turn to look at him, shoulders hunching, fingers tensing in the material of his shorts. And really this is all very, very similar.

“You loved him,” Minseok starts, his observation soft, but no less convicted. “Your old muse, you really loved him."

“My—my  boyfriend,” Lu Han nods, and Minseok purses his lips in quiet thought. He shifts to fold his knees beneath his body. They’re almost the same height, weight, but he looks so _tiny_ in his sudden discomfort and insecurity. It makes Lu Han’s heart ache, ache to reassure, but Minseok’s lips part and close several times as he tries to find more words to say.

“Do you still…love him?” Minseok asks.

Lu Han shakes his head hard, and maybe there’s something like relief in Minseok’s eyes. His eyebrow smooth just the slightest.

“You just...stopped?” Minseok hedges, still hesitant. And Lu Han really hates it, hates how small and unsure Minseok looks like this.

“Loving him?” Lu Han asks, and Minseok nods slowly. “Yeah. We broke up. We’re done."

Minseok sighs, more open relief now. “I know—I know I don’t have much of a claim, you know. I’m just a muse, but it’s still—I don’t want to be an in-between. I’m okay being just a lightening rod for your words or whatever, but not a distraction from your real feelings. Not a rebound.” Minseok’s fingers curl into his shorts. The fabric bunches around his thighs as he twists and twists and twists.  “I have too much pride for that, you know."

“You’re not a distraction,” Lu Han protests softly, and Minseok looks up at him. _Finally_. His eyes really are too too too beautiful. So dark and heavy and deep and perfect. Lu Han loses himself in them.

“Don’t do this,” Minseok says, also soft. “I like being a part of something, for your sake. I like the way you look at me,” he admits. “I—I like feeling like I’m—but I don’t want to get swept up in that when I know it isn’t real. This isn’t about that. I’m not asking you to make it real.”

But now, now the opportunity Sehun has been urging him to take—

“You’re not a passtime either,” Lu Han confesses. “You don’t just matter because of the words.” He can still feel Minseok’s eyes on him. Not calculating or teasing or testing, but still unnerving, still heavy. “I _like_ you,” he says, finally. “Like I really, really like you."

Minseok blinks rapidly, tugs nervously at his ear. His shoulders rise and fall in indecision, but his voice when he speaks is laced with distress. Maybe anger, too. “I know our arrangement, Lu Han. I know what this is. What we are."

“No, you don’t. I just told you."

And now the anger is more pronounced, defensive, too. “You’re writing about somebody falling in love with me. It makes sense that you’re projecting the character’s feelings onto yourself.”

“You have it backwards, Minseok. I’m writing about falling in love with you—because I _am_ —falling...for...you."

Minseok just stares at him, eyes overbright, so Lu Han continues, clarifies further.

“And Noah, he isn’t even—you know he’s inspired, he’s derivative, but he doesn’t have your eyes or your smile or that little humming sound you make when you’re nervous—“ And Lu Han, he’s rambling, but helpless to stop now that he's started. “Noah, he doesn’t blink very fast and play with my fingers and I—I don’t have sex with people I don’t like. That’s not how I am."

Lu Han tries to catch his eyes now, wants to so fucking _badly_ , but he fails, settles for watching Minseok's throat instead. It jumps as Minseok swallows heavily, once, twice. But he’s still not fucking responding.

“Minseok,” he says, and Minseok looks up at him. Minseok's lower lip is caught between his teeth, his eyes so fucking bright. And Lu Han aches from looking at him. “I _like_ you,” he insists. “I have since that first time we spoke.”

Minseok shifts uncomfortably again, and confessions, they aren’t supposed to be this awful, aren’t supposed to be arguments he has to prove.

“You don’t have to want me back, but I do want you. I do like you. A _lot_.”

“Why?” Minseok asks, finally, and Lu Han laughs disbelieving and tight.

“You’re _amazing_. You’re gorgeous and funny and you keep me on my toes and you—my heart is always beating so fast around you.” Lu Han gropes for Minseok’s hand, brings it to his chest. He hopes Minseok can feel Lu Han’s pulse thundering beneath his palm, hopes that serves as some sort of sign, a good enough sign. Now that words are, once again, failing him.

Minseok’s hand slides up up up, cupping Lu Han’s throat, and Lu Han presses into the touch, meets his eyes.

“I always want to kiss you. Always want to be closer,” he confesses into Minseok’s wrist. “Want to do other...dirtier things, too,” he continues, voice deeper, quieter. “Things I haven’t had a chance to do yet. Suck you off, eat you out, ride you.”

And Minseok, still watching him, he laughs, too, disbelieving and tight, too. “Want to prove your feelings via sex acts?”

“Yes, but also, I really fucking want to.”

“Because you like me?”

“Because you’re—” Lu Han’s eyes flutter shut as Minseok’s hand shifts up, strokes his cheekbone. “You're hot as fuck in addition to being amazing and the object of my affection."

"I—I like you, too," Minseok says, slightly shaky, but sure. "I didn't— because I'm your muse, didn't want to get caught up in the process when I'm just— when I thought I was just a..." Minseok shakes his head, laughs. "You're very disarming," he breathes. "Look at me like I’m the most important thing you’ve ever seen. And I’m—I'm always clambering to live up to your expectations of me. I’m always trying to be good enough, beautiful enough for you to keep looking at me that way."

"You don't have to...just the way you are, it's amazing"

“You’re so…” Minseok says again, dragging him into a kiss again. More hungry this time, deep from the start, Minseok seemingly trying to swallow him whole, devastatingly explore every inch of his mouth. Lu Han moans, stumbles, curls into the kiss.

“Can I?” Lu Han pants near his mouth. “Can I please?”

“What?” Minseok rasps. “What do you want to do?”

“Eat you out.”

Minseok shudders, biting down on Lu Han's bottom lip, tugging it back into his mouth. His arms wind around Lu Han’s waist, drag him onto Minseok’s lap. Lu Han rocks down onto him immediately. “Want to?” he groans

“Yes, so badly.” He drags his hips more insistently, lets his cock graze Minseok’s, tries to emphasize the point.

“As my my boyfriend?” Minseok groans. His arms wrap around Lu Han’s waist, guide his movements.

“As your boyfriend, yes. As the person that cares about you, thinks you’re beautiful and perfect, yes.” Lu Han fists his hands into Minseok’s shirt, tugs it aside to suck a mark into his neck, latching tight as Minseok guides him faster, harder.

“ _Yes_.”

Minseok drags him into his bedroom because Yifan he definitely doesn't deserve this show.

And Lu Han peels of Minseok’s clothes, his reservations, guides him on all fours.

Pressed behind him like that, nude, too, with his cock in his hand, Lu Han licks Minseok open and desperate. Minseok’s head tips forward, collapsing into the mattress. His fingers fist into the sheets, and his legs tremble with pleasure. His body clenches around Lu Han’s tongue, desperately trying to keep him inside. He’s rendered a mess, a veritable mess, gasping and moaning and whimpering for him to keep going, to not stop, never ever ever fucking stop. He wants him so fucking bad, Lu Han is so fucking _good_ at this.

Minseok is so responsive like this. He arches and quivers and releases the prettiest sounds, soft, but desperate and addictive, body clenching around him, begging desperately to be filled again and again.Lu Han agrees readily to fill him again and again and again, stroking himself off, all the while, pressing filthy, dark promises deep into Minseok’s body with every thrust of his slick tongue.

Minseok, limp with pleasure as he is, grinds back against Lu Han’s face, works a hand underneath himself to stroke in time with Lu Han’s licks, collapsing again with orgasm, whining Lu Han’s name. Panting against the sheets like that, lax, but ass still raised, legs still trembling, Minseok asks Lu Han to come for him, too, come across his ass and thighs, mark him, claim him.

It only takes two aching strokes along his own cock, one shaky “please” from Minseok, for Lu Han to follow through. Minseok falls forward completely then, gropes weakly for the tissues on his nightstand before Lu Han rises on shaky legs to grab them, wipe him off.

Leaden-limbed, he falls immediately afterwards, drags Minseok into his embrace, but Minseok rolls away. He makes a point of standing up nude and flushed and gorgeous to grope for Lu Han’s phone, urging him to write while the words are still fresh. He knows that’s important.

With Minseok cuddled to his side, breathing deeply, first with exhaustion eventually with sleep, Lu Han types and types and types. He drifts off at one point, too, nose pressed to the crown of Minseok’s still-damp head.

He jerks awake with a phone notification. An email. Kyungsoo proposes marriage. Chanyeol texts him in the next moment to grant him permission.

And yes, this is contentment, this is purpose. This is good. Kyungsoo was right.

**Author's Note:**

> double crosspost, from theluminations 2015 and my lj comm


End file.
